At the corner of her big four-poster bed stood the shadowy figure of a man. Her initial shock faded, if only a bit, when she realized that she knew him. Or at least, she recognized him. This was one of the ghosts in the house. Usually, he stayed up in his room, up in the tower at the corner of the house, alone and miserable.
But not this morning.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she managed to tell him.
He didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at her with big, unblinking eyes.
“What do you want?”
Still, nothing but silence.
Her throat was suddenly very dry and her voice came out as a raspy whisper. The ghosts in the house all knew the rules. None of them came into her bedroom, not ever, under penalty of exorcism. Not that she knew how to perform an exorcism but she was willing to bet there was a YouTube video on it somewhere! This ghost had decided to ignore that rule, and she doubted it was just so he could get a peek at her pink pony pajamas.
She knew his name was Camphor, although that was just about all she knew about him. Raina had told her that much but even Raina, who had existed in this house for a very long time, didn’t seem to know anything else about him. Up until now, he had spent all of his time curled up in his corner, just sitting there silently and giving off a cold aura that sucked away the very sunlight from the tower room’s gabled window. In fact, this was her first ever good look at him.
He was thin, and not just thin but skinny to the point that the long leather coat he wore over his ghostly frame hung loosely off his shoulders and draped him like a shroud. His hair was long and limp and swept back from a widow’s peak in a high forehead. His chin was square and dimpled. His angular face wore a hangdog expression, the corners of his mouth turned down in a permanent frown. Eyes blank as a child’s marbles fixed on her with an unblinking, creepy stare.
“Okay…” She slowly got out of bed, making sure to use the side away from where he was standing, and staring at her. “I’m going to get dressed in the bathroom, with the door closed. Before I get back, you need to leave. All right? You guys do not come in my bedroom. None of you. This is my own space. My sanctum sanctorum. If you don’t speak Latin, that means this room is invitation only!”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything.
“Invitation only,” she stressed.
More silence. She took a step toward the bathroom.
“I didn’t invite you.”
Nothing. Another step. And another.
“So you can leave.”
There was so much nothing coming from him that she could have heard a pin drop. This wasn’t going anywhere. She should just leave him be and get on with her day.
Unless…
Pausing with her hand on the bathroom door, she turned to face him again. “Did you have a reason for coming to me this morning? I’m still new to all of this ghost stuff, no offense, but if, um, if you really need help, I’ll try. I guess. You haven’t said a word to me in all this time, so why are you here now? What changed?”
The ghost wavered, rippling and transparent, as if the question had triggered something in him. He lifted his right arm…and crossed it over his chest. Then he lifted his left arm…and crossed it over his right. Then he just stood there, quiet and pop-eyed, with his arms crossed.
“I don’t understand,” Eva said. She was encouraged to even get that much out of him, but what did it mean? “Do you need help, or not? Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
In other words, she thought to herself, do you have a story to tell me?
The reporter in her was practically bouncing on her heels. Camphor was one of the most intriguing ghosts in a house full of specters. If he had a story for her, it could be about anything. Maybe even about how he died? This could be a big scoop for WPKT. This could be just the story she was looking for!
Camphor made a sound, something between a moan and a whine. Eva could tell he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to tell her why he had invaded her privacy this morning, when she had been ignored by him up until now. If she could just get him to talk!
Instead, he fell backward, stiff as a board with his arms still crossed over his chest, and disappeared through the floor.
“No, wait!”
Too late. He was gone, along with whatever secrets he had brought with him into her bedroom.
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